Two reports in a recent NY Times daily news flash caught my eye because
of hilarious nicknames in the headlines. I want to appropriate both of them.
I’ve had quite a few affectionate labels applied to me over the years, but I’m
ready to add some new ones, ones I’ve selected myself.
The first was a moniker adopted by
Priscilla Villarreal, whose colorful posts on Facebook have brought her
notoriety. She reports on activity at the Laredo, TX border and calls herself “La Gordiloca,” or “The Crazy Fat Lady”.
My family already thinks of me as
The Crazy Cat Lady. My late brother-in-law gave me a sleep shirt years ago with
that phrase emblazoned on the front. I still wear it. I’d need to change just
one letter to make it match my new nickname. Well, not actually, because the label
I really want is La Gordiloca. I’ve
been complaining about my weight for years now, and I’ll be the first to admit
I’m crazy. Saying this in Spanish would sound sexier.
Moving on to the second item in the
Times that day. It had to do with the
brilliant pianist in the hit movie Green
Book, Dr. Don Shirley. The article by David Hajdu reported on an exchange
between two of Dr. Shirley’s friends. They used the initials F. B. in referring
to the pianist. It stood for “Funky Butt,” composer Luther Henderson’s nickname for the pianist. Seriously? The
article didn’t explain exactly how the term of dubious affection came about. I
don’t really care. I want to co-opt it anyway.
I have good reasons to do this. My
freshman boyfriend in college called me Bugle Butt. I swear I wasn’t prone to
farting, so you can wipe the smirk off your face. That wasn’t the source of the
nickname. I weighed about 110 pounds at the time, but I had a lot of junk in
the trunk even then. The boyfriend had an unusual talent. He could make sounds
like a trumpet just using his lips. I assume that he tried out Trumpet Butt for
me first and quickly changed it to the alliterative Bugle Butt.
In my first marriage, I would dance
around, singing “la, la-a-a…” and shaking my behind, earning me the pet name
Fabulous Fanny, the Famous Flamenco Dancer. My husband even gave me a Steiff
mouse dressed as a Spanish señorita for Christmas. Fanny and Bugle Butt don’t
have the same allure as the more provocative Funky Butt.
Around the same time, I had a
friend I didn’t see often, but we spoke for hours on the phone. Stay with me
now. I gave her a white bear that we named Pasha (it somehow looked Russian).
It was a companion to my bear, Fanny. When I phoned, I’d identify myself as
Fanny Slanders, all set to gossip, and I’d ask how Pasha Galoop was doing.
This brings me around to my very
first nickname. My parents called me Suzy Potts. Or at least that’s what I
thought it was. Sometime in my twenties I learned what they were really saying.
It was tu sei pazzo. In my mother’s
southern Italian dialect she pronounced tu
like thu. She was saying: “You’re
crazy!” That’s my earliest claim to ownership of the “crazy” label.
My mother bestowed other variations
of pazzo on me. After I learned what
Suzy Potts really meant, my mother migrated to telling me I was pazzo che lupo—(loosely translated as) “what
a crazy wolf.” I have no idea why Italians think wolves are crazy, but it works
for me. Many Italian jokes using southern dialect feature a man named the
Anglicized Pacha Galoop. And that’s how my friend’s bear became Pasha Galoop.
So, now you can see why I’d
consider La Gordiloca and Funky Butt a
step up in my history of nicknames. Well, Gordiloca
anyway. I’m still not sure what makes a butt funky. Until I figure that out, I may just keep that one on hold.
Copyright 2019 Business Theatre
Unlimited
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